


I stop somewhere waiting for you

by commander_lexa



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Post-Finale, happy ending I promise, theres a lot of shaw and her feelings and her not knowing how to deal with them, this is my canon now let's all agree that this is how it ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commander_lexa/pseuds/commander_lexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finale Fix-It</p><p>Shaw feels a sudden rush of emotion -anger, doubt, joy- and, fuck, how do people deal with this all the time? She manages to croak one word out before her throat closes up. </p><p>"Root?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. missing me one place search another

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me in the new canon, my canon. If you guys like it, I may write more, or I'll write some of the AUs that are swimming through my head. Let me know what you think. Enjoy.
> 
> “You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,  
> But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,  
> And filter and fibre your blood.
> 
> Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,  
> Missing me one place search another,  
> I stop somewhere waiting for you.”  
> ― Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

A payphone rings. Sameen Shaw freezes. 

She isn't sure if she is ready to hear what is on the other line. She isn't sure if the Machine survived, -hell, she isn't even sure if Reese and Finch survived- but if it did that means at least part of _her_ survived and Shaw isn't sure if that would comfort her or not. 

She reaches towards the phone with numb fingers, her other hand tightening its grip around Bear's lease as she did so. She pulls the receiver up to her ear quickly, listening to a voice all to familiar and all too foreign. 

_"We're alive."_

All the air leave's Shaw's lungs as she puts the receiver down and glances up at the camera that rests on a telephone pole above her. So the Machine made it after all. She exhales. _We,_ it said. A smile graces her lips as she begins to walk away, and when she glances back down she catches sight of a familiar smirk. 

Shaw feels a sudden rush of emotion -anger, doubt, joy- and, fuck, how do people deal with this all the time? She manages to croak one word out before her throat closes up. 

"Root?" 

Root stands across the street, appearing out of nowhere, looking tired and weary but _alive_. She is wearing black jeans and an old tank top and a smirk that makes Shaw's blood boil and heart sore. Her eyes are wide with surprise, but her mouth is knowing, and Shaw isn't sure which one infuriates her more. She wants to glance back at the payphone but she doesn't dare take her eyes off Root, who is alive and standing fifteen feet from her. The Machine owed her a bit more of a warning than that, didn't it? Shaw's fingers move to the back of her ear, unconsciously searching for a chip that is not there. The touch of her fingers against her blemish-free skin tells her what her mind won't believe; this is real. 

Shaw's feet begin to move of their own accord, Bear's leash falling from her hand. She doesn't have to go far, because Root has already crossed the street and is making her way towards her. Root collides with her with the force of a hurricane, strong and wild and desperate. Root cradles Shaw's head as Shaw grips at Root's sides, her movements desperate and almost harsh as she tries to find something to grasp onto.

She lets Root hold her for nearly a minute, and she tells herself that it is entirely for Root's benefit. Tells herself that nothing has changed and that she still does not find comfort in the embrace, not at all. When she pulls away, she regards Root for a long moment. The taller girl has tears shining in her eyes, expression filled with emotions that Shaw will never fully experience. 

Shaw reaches up to touch Root's face, briefly, before her hands roam down her sides and then back up her arms. Her fingers flutter through Root's hair, along her jaw, and against the bunching of fabric around her waist. She watches as Root inhales when Shaw's hands find a resting place at her hips, waiting. Once satisfied that she is real, Shaw shoves her away angrily, but keeps one hand buried in the hem of Root's tank top. She needs the contact to breathe. She needs to be sure that her stupid heart isn't playing tricks on her still-vulnerable mind. 

Root's eyes widen. "Sameen..."

"What the fuck, Root," Shaw roars, eyes ablaze. Bear whines from beside her, sniffing excitedly around Root. Shaw shushes him with a wave of her hand. She hates that Root can make her like this. She hates that if she ever feels anything, as little as it always is, she feels it for Root. She hates that she let it happen and then lost it and that she is so ready to let it happen again. 

"I can explain," Root begins. 

"You better," Shaw growls. "What the _actual fuck_ , Root. I can't believe you. How dare you? How dare you let me think you were dead-"

"Sameen, please." 

Shaw cut her off with an angry hiss, not yet done with her rant, voice becoming dangerously low. "You let me walk around for weeks thinking you were dead, I-" Shaw's voice cuts off with a muffled choking sound, suddenly out of words. She silently curses herself for the weakness, nails digging into Root's side. 

Root is gazing down at her with misty eyes and before Shaw can begin yelling again, Root's warm lips are pressed against her and everything stops for a second. Shaw allows a warmth to wash over her for a quick second before pushing Root away. 

"It was the only way," Root says calmly, using Shaw's momentary shock as an opportunity to explain. "She needed to push Harry forwards," she explains quickly. "And I was shot, I mean, that part was real. It just didn't kill me." 

Shaw's hand shifts from the hem of Root's shirt to move along her abdomen. Root hisses as Shaw's fingers graze over a fresh wound on her right side. Shaw growls. "It's still not fucking okay, Root. I thought you were dead," she spits. "If you ever do that again I swear to-" 

"I love you," Root says, effectively cutting her off again. She says it again, voice softer. "I love you."

Shaw's nostril's flare. "Fuck you, Root," she says, then grabs Root's hips and pulls her towards her. 

This kiss is not unlike the one at the stock market; hard and desperate, all full of teeth and tongue and the tears from Root's eyes. Root's hands find Shaw's face and pulls her closer, closer, closer, until the two women are in danger of drowning in one another. 

Shaw lets this kiss go on for longer. She lets Root's tongue slip into her mouth and take her breath away. She allows herself to find comfort in the familiar sensation of Root nibbling gently on her upper lip. She relishes in the fact that they both made it through this thing -broken, but alive- and that after all of this they still fit together like they do. 

Root grins at her when they part, eyes bright. "You're wearing my jacket," she says, smugness creeping into her voice. 

"Shut up," Shaw snaps with the small amount of air that is left in her lungs after kissing Root. She doesn't bother denying it, nor does she take off the slightly-too-big jacket. She has worn it all week, the leather and the scent of Root still lingering a comfort to her as she tried to rebuild what was left of her world. She's never going to tell Root that, but then again maybe Root already knows, because she doesn't say anything more, just smiles at Shaw like she's the sun. 

Shaw sighs, then bends down and picks up Bear's leash, the fist she has curled in Root's shirt shifting to grab the other girl's hand, pulling her back into the traffic of the sidewalk. 

"Sameen?" Root wonders, voice filled with too many emotions for Shaw to discern. "Shaw, where are we going?" 

"I'm hungry," Shaw grumbles after a moment, weaving through the hoards of other people on the street. "You're going to buy my lunch, then you are going to explain to me why you thought faking your death without telling me was a good idea, and then you are going to apologize by buying me more food until I decide to maybe consider forgiving you." 

Shaw can practically feel Root's grin. "Oh, I'm sure I can find a way to make it up to you." Root's voice is dripping with innuendo. 

"Root," Shaw warns. 

"Sorry, Sweetie," Root replies, though she doesn't sound sorry at all, not like she ever does. "Lunch first, apologies for dessert."


	2. a few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join me again in a new canon which I decided to continue. Thanks to everyones kind words and kudos I decided to write more. Hopefully this will give us a happy ending to need. Two more chapters to come. Enjoy!
> 
> (chapter title is again from Walt Whitman's A Song of Myself)

Shaw's still angry, that's what she tells herself. 

The tightness in her chest is from rage of being left in the dark for weeks, not joy. The shakiness in her breath comes from trying not to punch Root in the face, not from the relief just to see her, to touch her, to know she is there. The heaviness in her gut stems from feelings of betrayal, and most definitely not from her questioning whether or not this is real, not from her hoping with all her might that it is.

No. She's just angry. 

But she still lets Root explain herself. She still lets Root watch her with loving eyes as she eats two burgers. And she still lets Root fall into bed with her that night. It's soft and slow and nothing like the other times -simulation or reality- and she lets Root hold her close when it's over. She lets herself fall asleep in Root's arms. 

When she wakes the next morning, face buried in Root's strawberry-scented hair, it takes her longer than it normally would to remember that she is still angry. The want to pull Root closer is so prominent and so out of character that it surprises her. She ignores the feeling and goes to find the dog. 

"I should be mad at her," she states as she scratches behind Bear's ears, sitting on the couch next to him. Bear looks at her with wide eyes that Shaw takes as an agreement to her statement. Root did let her think she was dead for a few weeks, so Shaw has every right to be angry. She turns Bear's face towards her. "Right?" 

The sound of soft footsteps on the hardwood floors pull Shaw away from her conversation with the dog. Bear perks up and trouts off towards Root, licking her open palm. Shaw scowls. Of course, even the dog is taking Root's side. Traitor. 

Shaw stands and turns towards Root. The other women is dressed, but has yet to brush her hair. Her low cut t-shirt reveals marks from where Shaw bit down slightly too hard last night, and the sight would make Shaw fill with satisfaction if she weren't still so angry. Here, with a horrible bed head and in the soft, late morning light, Root looks younger than Shaw has ever seen her. And tired. Her shoulders slump as she pets the dog, and she is favoring her left side. Shaw wonders how her wounds are healing, wonders if she's been taking care of herself, but the thought just makes her angry all over again. Root has never been one to take care of herself, and her lack of self-preservation is what got her killed. Or...nearly killed, it seems. 

Root turns her attention from Bear to Shaw, looking at her with tired eyes. Shaw has never understood how Root can pour so much emotion into one look, but she seems so vulnerable that Shaw almost wants to look away. 

"You're mad," she says, not a question. 

The statement lights a fire in Shaw's abdomen. Her nostrils flare. "Of course I'm mad," she growls. 

Root's face softens. "Sameen..."

"Stop," Shaw snaps, hands curling into fists at her sides. This is what bothers her more than anything, Root's softness. She wants Root's hard edges, her snark, her painful stubbornness, her spite and her unwillingness to let Shaw self destruct as she so often did. She almost misses the push and the pull of their relationship, but in the past 24 hours Root has been nothing but giving to Shaw. Too giving. With her soft footsteps and gentle hands and her lips at Shaw's ears, reassuring that this is real. And now, with her wet eyes and acceptance of Shaw's anger. It's infuriating. 

Shaw was tired of walking on eggshells. 

"You died Root," she spat, hating the emotion that was pooling inside her, cracking her edges and threatening to spill out. "You were dead. I went to your damn grave. Do you have any idea what it was like for me? Thinking you were dead all that time?" 

Root's face contorts painfully, her softness making her vulnerable, and Shaw realizes at once that she has made a mistake. She remembers the look on Root's face when she had first come back, the relief and joy and the desperation in making sure she didn't leave again. She remembers John pulling her aside in one of the few moments that Root had left the room. 

"She never stopped looking. She was desperate to find you Shaw, it was almost frightening," John had told her in a hushed whisper, a hand on her arm. "She walked across the edge of a high rise building with her eyes closed..." 

The two had separated once Root had re-entered the room, Shaw pulling her arm from John's grasp almost violently. His message had been clear. 

_She nearly died to find you. Take care of her._

And then Root had actually died. Alone, with a bullet not meant for her lodged deep in her side. How's that for taking care? 

Except she didn't actually die, and she's here, looking at Shaw with wet eyes.

Root swallows thickly as Shaw returns to the present. "Yes, Sameen," she whispers. "I know exactly what that is like." 

Shaw has to bite this inside of her cheek to keep her emotions from betraying her. She is not used to the noise in her head being this loud; she wishes she could turn the volume back down again. She misses the firmilar numbness that followed in the wake of Root's death, her fake death, because now Root is back and everything is loud. Shaw isn't used to it, her body doesn't know how to respond to her heart. It was hard enough for her to grieve, but now realizing her grief was for nothing? 

She looks Root dead in the eye, face stoic. "Then why did you do it?" 

Root can see right through her, a quality that has always annoyed Shaw to no end. Root's face crumbles but she holds herself upright, one hand curling into Bear's fur. "I hold to. She told me I had to." 

Shaw's voice is raw with anger. "Why." 

Root swallows again. "She needed to push Harry forwards, She needed to make sure he was willing to do what needed to be done," she explains.

Shaw has heard this before. Yesterday at the diner, and last night, and this morning in her head as she had woken in Root's embrace, but she needed to hear it again. She needed to know that this was all real. 

"How long did you know that this was the plan?" She asks, something they hadn't covered the day before. "How long did you know and not tell me?" 

"Not long," Root responds quickly. "I made a decision." 

"And was it Her decision to let me think you were dead for weeks, or was that all you?" 

"Sameen," Root pleads. She looks like she wants to reach towards Shaw, but remains rooted to her spot behind the couch. "I was trying to protect you, you couldn't be worried about me and fight Samaritan. I did-"

"You did what you had to do," Shaw interrupts, teeth bared. "That's what you told me. It still doesn't make it okay." 

"I'm sorry," Root breaths, tears tickling her pale cheeks. "I'm sorry, I had to, I'm sorry." 

Shaw's conflicted between comforting Root and punching her. Instead, she grabs Root's leather jacket and makes her way to the door, tucking a gun in the waistband of her pants as she goes. "I need some air," she mumbles.

"Sameen," Root's voice calls from behind her, small and quiet. "Please stay." 

Shaw's hand falters on the doorknob for longer than she would've liked it to. She exhales through her nose, refusing to turn around. "Don't wait up for me," she says finally, then as an afterthought. A promise. "I'll be back later."

* * *

It's late when Shaw goes back to the apartment, late enough that they sun has just set, and the chill of the night air is making it's way through the bullet holes in her -Root's, actually- leather jacket. 

Root is waiting for her, staring at the door as she opens it, standing nearly in the same spot that was was when Shaw stormed out. 

"Did your robot overlord tell you I was coming back?" Shaw asks, a bit more venom in her voice than she had originally intended. She pulls her gun out from her jeans and sets it down on the table by the door, tossing her keys next to it. She's still wearing the jacket. 

Root's voice is small when she responds. "No."

Shaw is too preoccupied with her own still-lingering anger that she misses Root's vulnerability. She had thought she had cooled down, but being with Root again just continued to stir emotions inside of her. It's strange and unfamiliar and Shaw is left wondering how others deal with this constantly. 

Shaw looks at Root and she's mad, but she's also...relieved. Her chest fills with an almost unbearable lightness at the recognition that Root is alive, and well, and then she is hit with the fear that she might have to go through the same loss of Root again. Root makes her feel so much and that's what makes her frustrated. And, suddenly, her anger is taken over by the want to hold Root close and not let her go.

Root doesn't know this, she's still apologizing. "Listen, Shaw, I thought I-" 

Shaw rolls her eyes, cutting her off. "Shut up, Root," she says, taking a deep breath. She exhales. "I forgive you." 

Root's eyes brighten. "You do?" 

Shaw nods, tired of arguing. She watches a small grin appear on Root's face, and she feels all out of anger. "I still think what you did was stupid, and I'm mad you didn't tell me about it, but I get it." 

Root takes a step towards Shaw, and Shaw lets her. She nearly leans into Root as she approaches her, and she doesn't flinch when Root slowly intertwines their hands. 

Root's words from a few weeks ago echo in her head. _"This might be the first time I feel like I belong."_

"I get it," Shaw repeats, voice low. She swallows, her eyes turn deadly. "But if you ever even think about pulling a stunt like that again I swear to God Root, I'll kill you myself." 

Root nods, void of her usual sass, and Shaw believes her even though she shouldn't. She squeezes Root's hand before releasing it, suddenly feeling tired. "Let's go to bed," she murmurs, heading towards the main bedroom. After a moment, she hears Root's shuffling footsteps behind her.

Shaw almost smiles. Maybe Root died, and maybe the world almost ended, but at least Root came came back. That's what matters.

Shaw's starting to believe that this is real after all, and, for once, she ready for it to be.


	3. I and this mystery, here we stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. Enjoy.

Shaw's not angry anymore.

She grows tired of Root's wet eyes and heavy stares quite quickly, so when she tells Root she's over it, she really is. She'll still kill Root if she tries anything like that again, but she's not angry, not anymore. 

She's not numb, either. Well, she is numb, but her normal kind of numb, not the deep, suffocating numbness that she felt when Root had died. Her anger fades and she returns to a familiar lack of emotion, like the volume has been turned back down to normal, which is good for her. Good for them. 

The first message comes about a week later.

By then, they've fallen into a routine of sorts, one that almost mimics domesticality, though Shaw would deny it if that word were ever mentioned. The routine is good though, and they begin to find comfort within each other, in places where they once felt raw. 

Shaw wakes up early to go for runs, and Root is normally up by the time she returns, breakfast ready. They spend their days doing menial tasks. Root reads, or types away at her laptop while Shaw flips through trashy television or cleans her weapons or does whatever she can to keep her hands busy. Shaw shops, Root cooks, or at least, Root cooks until she starts to mess something up, which is when Shaw takes over and Root takes to cleaning. They take turns walking Bear, sometimes they even walk Bear together. Shaw cleans and changes the bandages on Root's side. It's all wonderfully un-domestic. 

They also sleep, a lot. Together, too, except in the nights where Shaw's nightmares are so suffocating that she has to sneak away from Root's warmth to lay on the couch. It's good. They are both still healing, after all, they need their rest. Root has a hole in her side, and Shaw has holes, well, in lots of places. And they've both received enough bruises for a lifetime, both physical and not.

They don't talk about the Machine, or about Samaritan, or about rebuilding or about what's going to happen next. Shaw's tired, and Root is too, even though she won't say it. So, when Shaw receives a text message with cryptic instructions that are all-too familiar, she is having none of it. She deserves a damn vacation, let somebody else be on clean-up duty for the time being. 

"Can you tell Big Sister that I'm on leave or something? No numbers for at least a couple more weeks." She calls from the bedroom to Root, who is sitting on the couch with her nose buried in a book. She pauses, waiting for a response. When none comes, she sighs and walks over to the living room. "So, what did she say?" 

Root's eyes are far away. She blinks, and glances up to Shaw. "I don't know," she says.

Shaw's brows furrow. "Huh?" 

Root's smile is a mix of sheepish and sad. "She's not exactly...talking to me." 

"What?" 

Root looks at her lap, fidgeting. "We had an argument, that day that you left to get some air," she explains. "She's not exactly happy with me right now...the feeling is mutual." 

Shaw nods, sinking down to sit on the couch next to Root, but not touching. Now that she thinks about it, Root had been a bit off the last week, but Shaw had chalked it up to the recovery from a life-threatening injury and a year of living on the edge of an cyber apocalypse, not because the voice in her head had suddenly shut up. "Okay, other than the part where an AI is unhappy with you..." she begins, "why?"

Root bites her lip. "We just had a disagreement," she says, looking reluctant to continue.

"Root," Shaw warns. 

Root exhales. "About my 'death'," she admits. "And about me telling you that I was alive and such." 

Shaw's nostrils twitch, but she can see that Root is uncomfortable, and she's trying this new thing where she tries to understand Root's many feelings. "Isn't that...weird?" She asks, what she really means is _are you okay?_

"It's quiet," Root replies. "But I'm okay."

Shaw's eyes narrow. Root is lying, this she knows, but she doesn't push. What are you supposed to say to someone who has stopped talking to the voice in their head? Shaw glances down at her phone, a string of numbers staring back up at her. She shuts her phone off, tossing it onto the coffee table. 

"The numbers can wait," Shaw says. "We deserve a vacation." 

They return to not talking about it after that. They return to their strange domesticality; Shaw goes on runs, Root burns dinner, they walk Bear. And Shaw watches Root a little more closely, makes sure she eats, makes sure she sleeps, and waits for her to start talking to the voice in her ear again. 

It doesn't happen for about another two weeks, and when it first does, Shaw hears "I'm sorry," from the other room and thinks that Root is talking to her. Which would make sense, considering that she has been apologizing a lot in the past week. Or she thinks that maybe Root has burnt dinner, which wouldn't be a first for her. 

Shaw is in the bedroom when they start talking, far enough away that Root must think she can't hear her. Root's voice is surprised, and hopeful, and when Shaw emerges from the bedroom Root is facing away from up, head tilted in the way in does when she's listening to the voice in her head. 

A voice that hasn't been very vocal lately. Root is definitely going to burn dinner now.

Root continues talking to the Machine, not hearing Shaw come into the room. They seem part-way into what could end up being a long conversation. "But you have to understand," she says. "It's her. I'm going to choose her." 

There's a pause. Shaw's chest tightens as the silence lengthens. She knows what they are talking about. They are talking about her. 

"It's a deal," Root replies after a minute, presumably when She is done talking.

Root turns her face slightly, and Shaw can she her smiling. "It's good to have you back," Root murmurs, a private moment that Shaw probably shouldn't be listening to. Deciding that this is good a time as any, Shaw, feeling more than slightly awkward after hearing Root's confession to the Machine, clears her throat and steps into the living room. 

Root turns fully and her smile shifts to Shaw. "Hey sweetie," she greets. "You ready for dinner?" 

Shaw nods, slowly making her way into the kitchen. Her eyes linger on Root as she pulls the lasagna out of the oven, but she looks away quickly as Root turns. Whatever agreement the taller women came to with the Machine, it's between them. Besides, it's over now. Shaw doesn't think about it any more, all she knows is that it better not get Root killed again. 

(Shaw wonders if Root knows she would choose her too, every time. But, then again, that's what they've been doing for the past couple of years now; choosing each other. Over and over. The recognition of it doesn't fill Shaw with as much dread as she thought it might.) 

The first number comes two days later. This time, they are both ready.

* * *

"Reese is dead, isn't he?" Shaw asks some weeks later, after they have returned to the city after their first big mission post-Samaritan. 

Root looks up from her pancakes at the sound of Shaw's voice. She watches the Persian women for a long moment, fork balancing on the plate with the tip of her index finger. "Yes."

Shaw nods. It's not exactly good breakfast conversation, in fact, Shaw normally likes to have her meals without any talking at all, but the question has been weighing on her mind for more than a week now. She's known for a while though; had John been alive, he would've found a way to let them know by now. "How'd he go out?" She asks, face remaining stoic. 

Root tilts her head to the side, a sure indication that the Machine is babbling in her ear. She smirks. "She says it was quite the spectacle," she says. "Government missile to the top of a building. Died saving the world."

Shaw scoffs, rolling her eyes. That's just like John, the noble idiot was bound to get himself killed during his heroics. She tries not to think about how she'll never save his stupid ass again. "And Finch?"

"Alive," Root responds, after a moment. "In Paris. With Grace." 

"Asshole," Shaw murmurs, shoving a piece of her forth pancake into her mouth. Props to Finch for getting them out of this mostly alive, but he could've at least checked in. She does not posses the energy nor the capacity to really be angry at Finch for disappearing, so she drops the subject and continues eating her pancakes. 

When she looks up from her plate, Root is looking back at her, with wide eyes and a pensive frown. Root has always been all eyes, her brown irises swimming with unspoken words, speaking the things that Root can't manage to say out loud. 

"So, I guess it's just us now," Shaw says when the silence has stretched for too long. 

Root looks at her for a long moment, eyes still wide and unreadable. "Yes, I guess it is."

* * *

The numbers continue to come steadily, because them saving the world from an evil AI has not stopped the general population from misbehaving, even if Shaw and Root probably deserve a lifetime of vacation by now. 

So the create a new routine, one that's not really routine at all, and they fall into it easily. They sleep in the safe house on the days where they aren't on an assignment, other words they are in hotels and on planes and switching shifts driving. They leave Bear with Fusco when they know they will be gone for too long -and what an interesting conversation it was when Root first showed up on Fusco's doorstep. They shoot kneecaps and set up offshore bank accounts and kill every single Samaritan agent that's left.

They never split up, Shaw has made it clear enough to Root that if they are going to do missions they will be doing them together. Shaw's a little bit afraid that Root might disappear again, -Root's afraid of the exact same thing- and she losses her breath each time a bullet comes a little too close. 

Shaw feels like the volume is up a bit louder all the time now. She looks at Root and she feels something in her gut that she has never really experienced before. The anger she is used to, the anger she still feels when Root is reckless and stupid as she always is, but the happiness is something she doesn't understand. Shaw wishes that her metaphorical radio would just cooperate once and a while.

They go back to saving the irrelevant, they go back to being irrelevant themselves. It's not a bad way to live.

* * *

"Watch your five o'clock, Sameen." 

Shaw shoots without looking, and there is a thud as the guard falls to the ground. Root nods at her, and they continue to approach the front door. It's dark, and Shaw's eyes are only now beginning to adjust to the darkness, but she can hear the click of Root's heeled boots against the pavement and she follows the sound. "How many inside?" she asks.

There is a pause as Root listens to the Machine. "Two downstairs, five up," she replies. 

"Damn," Shaw comments. "This girl has someone who _really_ wants her dead."

Root chuckles. "I guess that's why we're here," she says, pulling out a second gun and nodding towards the door. "Ready?"

Shaw eyes Root almost fondly. There is a gun in her hand and adrenaline rushing through her veins, and it's only the third number they've done since they got back into it but it's the first time Shaw has felt alive since the first time she 'died'. Root is grinning at her, her usual wide, shit-eating grin and Shaw almost grins back. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope this wasn't too dis-jointed for you guys to follow. I know the format has changed a bit, but I'm trying to slowly cover more time as the chapters progress, a way of showing how our fav gals are slowly moving on and learning to really live again. Let me know what you think
> 
> On another note, after I'm done with this I'm going to start an AU series for these two, so look out for that. Currently in the works are the Buffy AU, the Marching Band AU, and a Soulmate AU, of course. Feel free to prompt me. Visit me on tumblr: http://rootssymphony.tumblr.com/


	4. past and present wilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's just this chapter, and then a bit of an epilogue in a week or so probably. Enjoy. 
> 
> "The past and present wilt - I have filled them, emptied them,  
> And proceeded to fill me next fold of the future."

They heal together, slowly.

They go on missions, and shoot kneecaps, and save people that Shaw is beginning to believe aren't so irrelevant after all. They walk Bear, and cook dinner together, and piece by piece Shaw feels herself healing. It's slow, and it's painful, but she's healing. She shoots people and she heals, Root smiles at her and she heals, she wakes up free and alive and sane and she heals and it's as easy as that. 

She is healing and growing at the same time. As Shaw puts herself back together, puts Root back together, she finds herself expanding to fit Root's constant presence. They grow, and shift, and mold to each other.

She hopes that Root is healing too. She knows that Root is healing, because Shaw is healing as well.

Shaw feels different. She still isn't used to the amount of emotions that are moving through her at such a loud volume. It's not all the time, thank god, and it's not the same as how Root feels, she knows this, but there is something there. She feels happy and free and light.

She _feels_.

Shaw finds that she doesn't really mind it after all. 

But Root loves her anyways, Shaw knows this. Root loves her even though Shaw can't really love her back, not in the same way (but if she could it would be Root, it would always be Root). Root loves her always, with wide eyes, and pancake breakfasts, and words at the most inappropriate times, she loves her. 

Shaw doesn't really mind that either.

* * *

"Where are we going, Shaw?" Root asks, black nails tapping impatiently on the dash. 

"Stop complaining and you'll find out soon," Shaw grumbles from the driver's seat, eyes on the road in order to not have to view Root's pout. After a moment of tense silence Shaw spares a glance at her passenger. "Hasn't She told you already, anyways?" She asks.

Root's eyes narrow, arms crossing in front of her chest in a manner that Shaw is certain resembles a child, not that Shaw has much experience with those. "No," she huffs. "She says it's a surprise." 

Shaw grins triumphantly. Finally, the Machine is on her side. For once. 

This only makes Root more impatient. "We've been driving forever," she complains. 

Shaw rolls her eyes but does not answer. She lets Root pout for the next five minutes as she drives in silence, relishing in having the upper hand for once. Soon enough, she pulls off the road and down a long gravel driveway that's surrounded by trees. The house is one story, but large, wooden and old, with a detached garage and a large porch. There's plenty of land around it, and no neighbours in site. It's perfect.

Root's mouth drops open as Shaw parks the truck next to the one other vehicle on the property. 

Shaw turns off the truck and gets out, walking over to Root's side and pulling the passenger door open. She gives her an incredulous look. "Are you coming or not?" She asks impatiently. 

Root nods, but for once, doesn't say anything, pulling off her seatbelt and slipping out of the vehicle. Shaw slams the door behind her, making her way towards the house just as a well-dressed blonde woman emerges from the house. 

She smiles at them as they approach. "Hi, you must be Mrs and Mrs Jones," she says, offering her hand to shake. "I'm Emma Black, I've been emailing with one of you, I believe. Sameen?" 

Shaw glances at Emma's hand and then back to Root, watching as her eyes widen briefly before a smile dazzles her lips. "That's not me, I'm afraid," Root says, shaking Emma's hand because she knows full well that Shaw will not. "My Sameen has kept this place a secret, and I can see why," she gushes.

"Well, let's have a look inside, shall we?" 

Shaw has to suppress an eye roll as Emma leads them inside. Root falls into step next to her. "So, Mrs. Jones, what is this all about?" 

"Shut up, Root," Shaw growls under her breath. In Shaw's defence, it made sense for their cover identities to be married given the fact that they were looking at a house. 

Root is about to ask another question as they enter the cabin, but her words are cut off in her throat. 

Despite its slightly haggard outward appearance, the inside looks as if it has just been renovated. The inside is completely wood, the knots in the logs adding to the character of the house. High, vaulted ceilings stretch way above them, creating a vast amount of open space within the cabin. Past the front entrance, the space opens up into a large living and dining area. Emma begins her speech about the pros and cons of buying but Shaw isn't listening, and she's sure Root isn't either. 

Root stands, open-mouthed, in the middle of the living area as Shaw slowly makes her way towards the kitchen. It's more than enough space for the two of them, and the appliances look fully updated. 

"What's the cell service like out here?" Root asks. Shaw isn't sure if she's asking the realtor or the Machine. Doesn't matter. 

"Sameen," Root calls to her a minute later, when Shaw has once against zoned out. "Emma is going to show us the bedrooms." 

Shaw follows without a word, still partly lost in thought. Her heeled boots click loudly against the wood floors as she approaches Root from behind, leaning around her to peak into the guest bedroom. She gives a small grunt of approval before leaning back. It's nothing special, but it's big enough for Bear. 

Root and Emma talk for a minute before moving further down the hall and towards the master. Root gasps slightly as she enters the room, and Shaw pushes past her to get a look.

The room is large, with high ceilings and large windows and a big bed. The door to the en-suite is open, and from her place by the dresser Shaw can already see a waterfall shower head and twin vanities. This house is a crazy mix of old and new and it's kind of perfect. It's warm and simply and very couple-y, and Shaw knows that it's that fact that has got Root's mind spinning. 

"Emma, could you give us a minute alone?" Root asks without looking at the realtor, eyes still far away as she leaves the room. She listening to the Machine, no doubt. Shaw wonders what She is telling her. Shaw wanders around the bedroom; she makes it to the door of the bathroom before Root calls to her. 

"Sameen?" She says, soft and tentative. "What is this all about?" 

Shaw turns. "Hmm?" 

Root scratches her head, hand lingering as it passes her cochlear implant. She looks confused, tentative, hopeful, and it annoys Shaw to no end. "This. The house, do you..." she trails off, waiting for Shaw to speak in a way that is very unlike her.

She pauses, looking at Root for a long time, taking in her furrowed brows and hopeful eyes. Shaw shakes her head, sighing. "Don't make me say it," she groans. 

"Sameen..."

"Fine, whatever," Shaw huffs. "Just, live with me, okay?"

A small smile touches Root's lips as she moves towards Shaw. "Are you asking me to move in with you?" she questions, and like the flip of a switch her tentativeness is gone. Root has the upper hand now, and she knows it. "Sweetie, we've lived together for five months."

They _have_ lived together, longer than Shaw has ever been with anyone else, but not here. Not in this place, a new place, a place just for them. She wants to say: the city is too cramped, too loud, too familiar, too on par with the thousands of fake lives she's lived that are still running rampant through her mind, too close to where it all happened. She wants to tell Root to run away with her, to just be with her, here, away, anyway, to shut her mouth for once and come along for the ride. 

She can't. She sighs again. "Do you like the place of not?" she asks.

Root nods, still smiling. "I do. I like it a lot. It's...homey."

"Perfect for retirement," Shaw comments before she can think to stop herself.

"Retirement?" Root questions, brow raised.

Shaw shrugs. "Semi-retirement," she corrects. "Besides, there's enough space on this property to set up a pretty decent shooting range." 

Root still looks a little skeptical, she knows this is a big step for Shaw. "Really? Are you-"

"Sure?" Shaw interrupts. "God, Root, stop being so thick." 

Root smiles, so bright and joyful that it makes Shaw slightly uncomfortable. She steps back, eyes sparkling. "Emma?" She calls to the realtor, stepping out of the bedroom and moving towards the kitchen. Her voice carries through the space. "I think my _wife_ and I would like to make an offer." 

Shaw scowls, pushing off the wall and following Root. Root is never going to let her forget that.

* * *

The night after they have officially bought the new house Root's soft voice wakes. "Shaw?" A pause, listening to the changing in Shaw's breathing. "I need to tell you something," Root whispers into the darkness, hand finding Shaw's beneath the covers. "I don't know if you'll like it or not." 

Shaw rolls over to face Root, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the dead of night. She can see the outline of Root's profile, the curve of her nose, the curl of her damp eyelashes. She can feel Root's emotion inside her, more than she can feel her own. She watches her with softness, waiting for Root to speak.

Root takes a deep breath. "I didn't know if I was going to survive when I took that bullet for Harold," she breaths. "She told me the odds, they...weren't ideal."

Shaw huffs, air expelling out her nostrils with a whoosh. She can feel holes inside of her pain again, straining against the stitches they have carefully placed over time. This is what bothers her about Root, her recklessness, her disregard for her own life, something Root has promised to work on, though Shaw doubts that that will ever happen. She swallows, maybe coming clean is what Root needs to do, and if there is one thing Shaw wants to put behind them, it's their respective 'deaths'. 

"Go on," Shaw prompts. 

Root's voice is shaky. Even in the dark, a half-asleep Shaw can tell that she is crying. "She said it was me or you. In every simulation. Me or you," she whispers. "And I couldn't risk you. Not again."

There is a long stretch of silence. Shaw matches her breathing to Root's but doesn't say anything.

"I needed you to know," Root says into the night. She sounds so small. "Please don't be mad."

Shaw's fist curls into the sheets. She remembers her anger at Root months ago. She remembers how she forgave her, but even then it took days and days for her anger to dissipate. And what is she supposed to be angry about now? Root's characteristic recklessness, her dedication, her overwhelming love for Shaw, a love deadly and dangerous that Shaw may not ever be able to return. How is Shaw supposed to be angry when she knows that she would've done the same thing to not lose Root again, knows she would've done anything to bring Root back. She can't be.

There are so many things she wants to say; stop being an idiot, you infuriate me, never do that again, I understand, I would've done the same. 

_(It's you, it's you, it's always you.)_

"I'm tired of being angry," Shaw says finally. Her hand uncurls from the bedspread and travels up to Root's side, jerking her close to her. "Good to sleep, Root." 

Shaw can feel Root relax against her, muscles loosening and breath evening out. She's asleep quickly, and they both sleep through the rest of the night.


	5. all goes onward and outward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue of sorts. Thanks for sticking with me. 
> 
> "They are alive and well somewhere  
> The smallest sprout shows there is really no death  
> And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it   
> And ceased the moment liked appeared
> 
> All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses  
> And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier"

The new house is strange.

Well, it's not the house exactly, but it's the whole idea of having her own place for the first time in a while. Her own place...with someone else. And not just anyone, Root. Her and Root own a house together, and they have a dog, and the world isn't nearly as close to ending as it was four months ago and now that everything has had enough time to normalise, what are things going to be like. 

Is this what things are going to be like? In a house outside the city with Root for the rest of her days? It is this, the looming prospect of permeate domesticity, that truly bothers her. It's not that the house is too quite, or too small, or too warm, but the question of whether or not she is programmed for this. Whether or not Shaw can finally find a place to land after all this time. 

This doesn't really register with Shaw, why this house feels like an extension of her life that she cannot control, not until she hears Root whisper, "Welcome home." 

Shaw hasn't had a home in a very long time. Then again, Root probably hasn't either. 

This new place isn't really home, not yet, but Root is.

Shaw thinks about this as she lays in bed next to Root. Root, who is breathing, and alive, and real. She is real. A tightness fills Shaw's chest and she has to sit up to gulp in air, pushing herself out of bed and shuffling to the bathroom. 

For just a moment, reality blurs with simulation as Shaw stares at herself in the bathroom mirror. She takes a deep breath, counts backwards from ten, and remembers things that she knows are real. She remembers pain and torture and seven thousand simulations. She remembers escaping. She remembers Root. 

Shaw remembers a moment in a park, she remembers her hands shaking and Root pressing a gun against her own chin. She recalls the deadly reality of Root's love for her. 

She remembers Root's voice, strong and defiant and wet with tears. "I can't live without you."

She remembers her anger. Anger at Root's painful stubbornness, and lack of value for her own life, a life that Shaw had sacrificed herself for in thousands of different simulations. She looks at her reflection in the dark, and knows that Root and her recklessness will always make her angry, but she's glad that Root is still around to do that.

And somewhere inside of her, some of that anger shifts to love, and it has her reeling again. Anger is something she can deal with, something she is familiar with, not the warmth that is bubbling up in her stomach. The warmth that has had her feeling off all day. Shaw knows that this is love. She feels love, in whatever capacity that she can. She loves Root. 

She stares at her reflection and her reflection stares back. It's not as big a revelation as she thought it might be. Maybe part of her has known for a while. 

"Sameen?" Root's voice from the bedroom, thick with sleep. "What are you doing? Come back to bed." 

Shaw blinks at the sound of Root's voice, still staring at her own reflection. This is just like a simulation, just like seven thousand simulations, but different too. This is real, Root is real, the warmth she feels spreading inside her in is so painfully _real_. 

She swallows and tears her eyes away from the mirror, releasing her white-knuckled grip on the counter top. Taking a deep breath, she pads back into the bedroom and slides into bed next to Root. Shaw lays there for a while, listening to Root inhale and exhale, trying to match her own breathing to that of the women beside her.

"Root," Shaw wonders after a few minutes, waiting for the hacker to stir beside her. "You love me."

A brief pause as Root shifts to face her, all Shaw can see in the darkness is the whites of her eyes. It isn't a question, but Root answers anyways. "Yes," she says firmly, unabashedly, and with the utmost certainty. 

Shaw swallows thickly. "What is it like?" 

"It's like drowning," Root responds softly, hesitant in her honesty, as if somewhat surprised by the question. "It's like I'm drowning, but I don't mind it. It's like I'm drowning, and you are all the air that I need. I'm drowning in you and breathing you in at the same time. Or it's like I've been drowning for a while and now I'm finally coming up for air." 

Shaw nods in the dark. She thinks maybe she feels this too, because Root is everywhere. Around her, behind her and in front, inside her, filling up all the cracks. It's like she's been waiting for Root her whole life and just didn't know it. 

It's a strange type of vulnerability, having something to lose, and one Shaw is almost willing to accept.

Shaw exhales. She clears her throat. "I don't mind drowning either," she admits softly. It's not an _I love you_ , not really, but it is as close to one as Root is ever going to get. Shaw hopes that it's enough. 

Root's hand finds Shaw's under the covers, squeezing, and that's answer enough for Shaw. It's more than enough.


End file.
